Magnificent Sir Raoul and His Stupendous Weapon
by clever.tricks
Summary: Gary composes an ode to a hero.


_A/N: Written for Goldenlake SMACKDOWN, 2011. Warning: this fic contains ribaldry and uneven metre._

On a leisurely summer day, Raoul and Gary strolled through Corus. Incognito, they were dressed in the shirts and trousers of the streets, though it would be foolish to think nobody saw through their disguises. While Gary scolded a vendor for overcharging them, Raoul munched his cake and enjoyed the warmth cast by the sun on the back of his neck. When they had resumed their walk, and Raoul had brushed the crumbs from Gary's moustache, they came upon a crowded square. Curious, they stopped. A bard stood atop a makeshift platform of slatted timber, crying a hero's deeds to accompaniment of a lute.

_"At the top of tower highest  
>of stony castle tenebrous,<br>he faced the dreaded fiend  
>and sought for battle perilous."<em>

"Who do you think this one's about?" Gary asked.

"I don't know. The old King Jasson, perhaps?" Raoul said.

_"The giant he stood  
>Least a hundred feet tall,<br>But Raoul feared not;  
>'Twas him commenced to brawl.<em>

_"The great knight fought valiant,  
>But the giant was savage:<br>Grievous wounds they sustained;  
>Spurting blood they did ravage."<em>

Raoul's jaw dropped, "Oh, Mithros, no."

"Ha!" came Gary's exhilarated realisation, "It's you!" His grin and glinting eyes were transfixed on the Bard.

_"The combat was fierce,  
>The blows they did quicken,<br>'Till by sword in his heart  
>The giant was stricken<em>

_"'Yon Giant,' Sir Raoul cried,  
>'Your cruel ways repent!'<br>The brute heeded not, so  
>Breast and head were rent"<em>

Raoul tugged at Gary's sleeve, "Let's go."

"Sshh! I want to hear how this ends!"

"You _know_ how it ends. I'm right here, aren't I?"

_"With one single stroke  
>The giant was smote;<br>His head was flung clear  
>And landed – splash! – in the moat."<em>

"Let's go, _now_," Raoul forcibly dragged Gary away from the show.

"Alright. But I must say, I'm disappointed. I thought you might have been honest with me."

"What?"

"That ballad put forward a very different story from the one you fed me. Twenty foot and a crowded battlefield? Pah! You never said you beheaded the bugger, and in one stroke, no less!"

"Oh, Mithros," Raoul rolled his eyes.

"What a hero!" Gary swooned, "Can I have a lock of your hair? I'll keep it with me always."

"Let's get out of here," Raoul grabbed Gary's hand and pulled him down toward the quiet, wooded spots by the riverbank.

"I'll never wash that hand again!"

"The last thing we needed was for that crowd to recognise me among them at that moment."

"Relax, none of them would know what you look like. They probably think you're twelve feet tall with a chest so hairy you can't wear a shirt."

"If they can tell we're nobles, that's bad enough. One of them could easily have known me from somewhere."

"They probably think wildlife nests in there; people can always hear you coming by the heraldry of baby birds cheeping around your nipples. Don't look at me like that – calm down, you got out of there unmolested, didn't you?"

"I just don't like hearing those stupid ballads, at least not when they're about me."

"Why not? You used to love them when we were kids."

"Before they were about me. They're just tall tales. There's no truth in them, and I don't like being venerated like that. The hero in those ballads isn't _me_."

"Take it as a compliment. People need stories to tell, and they may as well be about you. Or a version of you. Mithros knows, there won't be any about me."

"How do you know that? There might be."

"And how would it go?  
><em>'Sir Gareth the Younger,<br>Tortall's head bureaucrat:  
>Paper cuts on his fingers,<br>No exercise, so he got fat.'"_

"Your work is very important."

"I know it is."

"Paper cuts _are_ painful."

"Almost as much as an axe in the guts. You're right, I do deserve my own ballad! Why do you warrior types have to hog all the glory? Selfish bastards you are!"

"Take it, I don't want it."

"You know," Gary said thoughtfully, "I think my favourite of your ballads is that one about the serpent."

"Oh, that one, what's it called - "

"As if you don't know."

"Stop that. Um, 'The Knight Raoul and the Three-Headed Serpent of Chaos.'"

"No, that's not the one."

"Which one is it, then?"

"I don't know the title. That is to say, I haven't made one up yet."

"What? You're not telling me - "

"I always thought I'd make a good bard. Want to hear it?"

"Good Gods, no." But Gary struck a solemn and dramatic pose: back straight, legs wide apart, hand reaching to the heavens as if he recited to divinity itself.

_"That great knight: Goldenlake's Lord  
>Men near and far all deplored<br>But heed not green fellas  
>Indeed they are jealous<br>They've heard tell the size of his sword"_

"My _father_ is Lord Goldenlake. Please don't tell me this is about him. I don't want to know if it is!"

_"The information did leak  
>Sordid rumours folk speak<br>For Raoul couldn't resist  
>Could not cease nor desist<br>To whip out his Malorie's Peak"_

"Stop. Now."

_"He causes a stir most uproarious  
>Among maidens he's rather notorious;<br>To have him as their guest  
>Fair virgins all quest<br>For his arrow it truly is glorious"_

"No, please. Stop right now, or I'm leaving."

_"For the brave knight of Goldenlake  
>Maids in their girdles oft' quake<br>But poor girls are mistook  
>All they he forsook<br>In favour of man and his snake"_

"You are a terrible, terrible poet."

_"To vital damsels' dismay  
>Raoul declined his flesh to purvey;<br>Wholly for men  
>Does goodly knight yen<br>And only with them does he roll in the hay"_

"That's not even true. Not men, one _man_."

_"Sir Raoul is deft with his lance  
>And equally skilled in romance<br>Indeed it is true  
>Usoae's serpent he slew<br>Not to mention the one in my pants"_

"Shut up, or I'll _make_ you."

"_O, Sir Knight!_

_At my heartstrings he cruelly is plucking  
>At my very fine verse he is bucking<br>But my words he won't stay  
>'Till in my bed he doth lay<br>And we spend the whole afternoon -"_

But at this point, Raoul _did_ shut Gary up, in the only way he knew how: a sudden, sweet, enveloping kiss, to keep his damn tongue occupied. When they parted, Raoul murmured, "How about this one:  
>"I have a hot lover named Gary<br>By this river let us not tarry;  
>The smut he'd compose<br>Puts me in mind to propose  
>That with our two swords we should parry…so let's go."<p>

"I'd rather thrust than parry."

"Couldn't let that one go, could you? Hey – not here! We're in public!"

"No one can see us. Besides, you interrupted me at the best part. Don't you want to know what we were going to end up doing?"

"I think I have a fair idea where you were going with that."

"You _knew_ I was going to say we should spend the whole afternoon reciting the Code of Chivalry?"


End file.
